Raj Kapoor: The Master at Work

PROLOGUE: THE DREAM

ON A PARTICULARLY CHILLY evening, I woke up with a jolt when I sensed some movement in my room. To my absolute astonishment and bewilderment, a striking image presented itself in my blurry vision. It took a moment for me to process the fact that Raj Uncle or Raj Sahab or ‘Boss’, as I addressed him at various points in my life, was sitting on a chair right in front of me!

I was taken aback to see him there but, at the same time, I couldn’t contain my happiness. ‘What a pleasant surprise to see you!’ I exclaimed.

He seemed angry, ‘Where is my drink?’ I scrambled about and got him a large Black Label whisky, his favourite drink.

He gulped the drink and said, ‘Get me another one!’ As I poured him a second drink, he kept staring at me. I started getting nervous; he said suddenly, ‘I know you have not made a film in some time. If you are not inclined to making films, why don’t you, like most others today, start assembling films?’

I was completely confused and replied, ‘I’m sorry, I did not understand the question.’

He flared up and exclaimed, ‘You’re stupid!’ I was taken aback and did not know what to say because I still hadn’t understood what he had meant to say.

‘Do people nowadays know what it means to make a film?’ He was furious! ‘Nobody makes films anymore. Barring a few conscious and genuine filmmakers, 90 per cent of the so-called filmmakers are not making films but are only assembling films!’

He seemed to be getting angrier with every word he spoke, ‘The state of the film industry is in despair. I lived in the golden period of cinema where people actually strived towards making a film. There was passion involved in the filmmaking process but now the passion is in assembling a product for numbers and figures; a disastrous situation which has led to the deterioration of cinema.’

He further voiced his disgust by saying, ‘Filmmaking has seized to be a creative process and is now a mechanical process. I believe today’s writers should be called typewriters. They sit at computers typing a script, or better yet, the computer dictates the script to them! Directors, while shooting, sit in front of a television screen and decide whether it’s a good take or not. Is this how films are made? What happened to using your creativity, intelligence and the human feel? These were the most essential ingredients for making a film! People who call themselves filmmakers are only interested in the big bucks raked in from the Friday, Saturday and Sunday collections. It’s just about the numbers. If you’re only interested in Friday, Saturday and Sunday, where have Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday gone? Have they disappeared from the calendar and do not exist anymore?’

He was mourning the demise of cinema; mourning the fact that the indelible legacy of creativity had disappeared; mourning the fact that cinema had lost that heartfelt passion. It now functioned on the basis of calculations and economics.

‘Filmmaking is an art.’ A melancholic expression masked his face as he said, ‘I feel like I’m one of the lucky few who are not living in today’s times. I agree that there should be some kind of economics but, for a true filmmaker, the heart has to reign supreme. I am happy in my space. I would hate to live in an era where films are not being made as a creative pursuit but where numbers are motivating filmmaking!’

His words struck my heart and I was taken to the time when filmmaking was more than just about the money. It took me back on a journey to the past when films were being made with utmost precision. It took me back to 8 December 1968, on the sets of Mera Naam Joker, the day I first saw the Immortal Master weave his magic.

STARTING OUT

I HAD RECENTLY GOT DONE with the stressful ICSE board exams when I got a call from my childhood buddy Chintu, Rishi Kapoor, ‘Dad’s shooting the circus chapter of Mera Naam Joker at Cross Maidan from today, let’s spend the day there. There will be some sexy female Russian circus artists…’ And that had me convinced! Free time, after the gruelling ICSE board exams, added with the prospect of meeting young Russian circus artists in skimpy outfits, was definitely more alluring than sitting at home.

The invitation was very exciting for a fifteen-year-old like myself. It wasn’t the shooting aspect that fascinated me, I had been to a fair share of shootings given that I am the son of director H.S. Rawail. I simply went there to ogle at the exotic ‘foreign’ girls.

You see, Chintu and I had studied together at Walsingham House School until grade four, after which it became an all-girls school. In those four years, Chintu and I had developed a bond of friendship that lasted over the span of our lives. Dad and Raj Uncle were both filmmakers and hence very friendly with each other.

When we reached Cross Maidan and entered the big top, initially, the girls there definitely grabbed my attention, but when I saw Raj Uncle and the way he was working, I forgot my original purpose of going there. I was mesmerized by the aura created by Raj Uncle working. It was like watching him conduct a symphony without a music sheet. There was this single man controlling a crowd of 5,000 junior artists, Russian and Indian circus artists, crew members and actors. He was orchestrating all of them to perform, to the best of their abilities, to bring his vision to life. The scene that was laid out in front of me was one of chaos and organization working hand in hand. It compelled me to simply stand in a corner and observe, and by this time I was so enamoured that even the thought of the girls had gone out of the window!

When I got back home, I couldn’t get over what had fascinated me at the shooting. It kept replaying in my mind over and over again. How Raj Uncle paid attention to the smallest of details while shooting and how particular he was about even the smallest movements being perfect. I knew nothing about his film, but seeing the way he executed it with so many people under his command was enough to keep my mind running. I was so captivated that I couldn’t help but share my experience with my mother. I told her, ‘Mom, I went to watch Raj Uncle’s film’s shooting today and watching him at work is a different experience altogether! I’m going back to the circus tomorrow to watch him shooting.’

I went to the circus again the next day and sat alone in a corner. Raj Uncle saw me there and asked me if Chintu was with me. I replied that I had come alone that day and he simply nodded and got back to the shooting.

I was amazed to observe how well he managed to store an overload of information in his brain. His eyes and ears were everywhere. He would look at everything. He firmly believed if the director required his actor to speak the dialogue or execute a particular movement, it was the job of the director to enact the same so that the actor could replicate it.

I remember Raj Uncle wanted Dharam ji, Dharmendra, who was playing the owner of the circus and a trapeze artist, to stand on the safety net after a jump. Dharam ji was a little confused about how to stand on the net because the net was very wobbly and difficult to balance on. So, Raj Uncle climbed the steps to reach the safety net to show Dharam ji how it had to be done. Raj Uncle was a bit on the heavier side but there wasn’t a single trace of fear or embarrassment on his face.

This represented his dedication towards the art. He would never compromise on the things he wanted to achieve while filming. He had visualized camera movements, background movements, the action of actors and the rhythm of dialogues, which were dictated by the content of the scene being executed, and he would ensure that they were achieved.

His clarity and intuitive sense of filmmaking compelled him to take charge of every action and emotion in every single scene. If his visualization of a scene demanded that an actor had to move with his left leg first, he would insist that the actor moves with his left leg first. As I spent more and more time observing him, I realized that there was a reason for everything he did and what the layperson thought of as simple details, were what contributed to his genius.

There was another scene, where Dara Singh ji had to enter from behind the lion’s cage and stand at his position beside the cage. He had a bullwhip in his right hand. Dara ji had said he’d come from behind and take a position where the lion would be on his right. Raj Uncle differed. He said that entering from behind, Dara ji must take his position where the lion would be on his left and the bullwhip in his right hand. The visual impact with the bullwhip and the lion flanking Dara ji would enhance the dramatic impact.

I came back from the shoot and paused to think about what I was doing. Was I enjoying my stint with Raj Uncle and did I want this to be my career ahead? I was not sure. I thought plenty about everything: my studies, my career and my future. My parents wanted me to carry forward the legacy that was created by my father but I had a plan and it was a simple plan. I was to go to Canada and pursue a degree in nuclear physics; films were never a part of my plan.

My academic course was due to start in the next seven months and I had nothing better to do, so I talked to my mother about it, ‘See, I have seven months free with nothing worthwhile to do. I was thinking if I should be productive and join Raj Uncle as an assistant director till the holidays end.’

She was more than happy to see me work rather than while my time away. My apprenticeship started with my father accompanying me to the shoot the next day and speaking to Raj Uncle about the prospect of me working with him for seven months during my holidays. Raj Uncle called me and said, ‘You are most welcome to come and work with me. I have noticed that you’ve been here every day for the last 15 days keenly observing me work but remember, you are not going to be H.S. Rawail’s son here, but a part of the unit like the others. Second, I haven’t opened a school but am more than happy to teach and guide you provided that hunger for knowledge is exuded by you.’

He turned to my father with a stern expression and asked, ‘What are you still doing here? This is Raj Kapoor’s assistant director here, not your son.’ The two of them started laughing while I stood there mulling over the fact that I was indeed Raj Kapoor’s assistant director!

A few days into my apprenticeship and I started to realize that Raj Uncle didn’t only have a brilliant mind but also an eccentric personality. He had his own quirks which I encountered soon enough. One day on the shoot while Radhu Karmakar, his director of photography (DOP) since Awaara, was lighting a shot, he summoned me, ‘Babbu, I can’t seem to get the lighting right for this shot. I need someone to climb up the big top and stand on the platform, where the trapeze artist stands.’

I was wondering who would be the right person to climb so high up, when Khan Sahab, Raj Uncle’s sound engineer since Aag, came to me and said, ‘Don’t just stand here, climb the big top and give a position on the trapeze.’

I was terrified and numb with the thought of going through this ordeal but before I could say anything, a safety harness was being fitted onto me. Khan Sahab was serious. He wanted me to climb a shaky, 40 feet rope ladder all the way to the top. I started climbing the ladder with my heart in my mouth. When I reached the top, Khan Sahab asked me to hold on to the trapeze with both my hands. If I wasn’t terrified enough before, I was, after listening to those words. I wasn’t trained in circus stunts. How could I hold on to the trapeze without risking my life?

Raj Uncle also spoke up, ‘Babbu [my ridiculous pet name], grab hold of the trapeze and try swinging to the other end. The trapeze artist standing there will help you.’

I was so terrified that I underwent a brain freeze and just then, the entire crew burst out laughing. I had been pranked! I looked down at them with tears in my eyes unable to comprehend the joke I had become.

I climbed down on shaky legs, my heart still pounding and Raj Uncle, for the first time, called me to have lunch with him, ‘I understand you were terrified and humiliated by what you went through. Don’t consider this a prank but consider it to be a very important lesson. In any creative pursuit, experiencing and understanding the emotions – fear, humiliation, defeat, losing a loved one, break-up of a relationship – are all necessary as they strengthen your understanding of life and thus make you creatively richer.’

His words imprinted themselves in my memory and my days spent with him were unveiling different facets of life at every step. My hunger for knowledge kept growing by the day. The circus schedule came to an end and so did my apprenticeship under the most distinguished filmmaker and the world’s most competent teacher, Raj Kapoor.

WHEN RAJ UNCLE BECAME RAJ SAHAB

I WAS PASSIONATE TO PURSUE nuclear physics but my interests seemed to have now brought me at a crossroads where an alternative passion had also been ignited. The nasha of making films and the ‘man’ himself was really taking over. Raj Uncle had rightfully said, ‘Once you enter this field of work and get passionate about the same, it is very difficult to give this up. It gives you an adrenaline rush when you heroically conquer all challenges hurled at you at and this is what creates a sense of euphoria within you.’ At that point, the idea of continuing to work as an assistant director appealed to me more than leaving it all to go to a different country to pursue a different career altogether. I was like a child who had graduated from dreaming of becoming a postman, slowly changing to a fireman, further changing to a policeman and to finally becoming a ‘filmman’!

I had to speak to Raj Uncle and see if he would be willing to let me carry on working with him. This time around, my father wanted me to talk to him myself. Raj Uncle had an office at the studio but worked from the revered ‘cottage’, which was sacrosanct to him. I stood at the entrance, very confused whether I should enter or not and if I should knock before entering. I was contemplating at his doorstep when John, his cook, saw me there and asked me who I was and what was I doing there?

‘Sahab se milna hai. Bolna Babbu milna chahta hai,’ I answered.

I had always addressed him as Raj Uncle but with the realization that I wanted to be employed by him, the term ‘Sahab’ seemed more appropriate. As I nervously entered the cottage, he asked, ‘Yes, Rahul, tell me.’

That was a monumental day for me. For the first time he addressed me as ‘Rahul’ and not ‘Babbu’. I simply stood there with a puzzled expression on my face. He said, ‘Don’t look so confused at the fact that I called you Rahul instead of Babbu. I know why you are here and you are welcome to carry on as an assistant director.’ His gift of reading faces and associating them with your thoughts was unparalleled.

Then Raj Sahab asked me about my future plans, ‘So, will you also go to college from June?’ 

I replied, ‘Yes Sir, I’ll take admission at St. Xavier’s College at Dhobi Talao.’

‘What are your college timings?’ 

‘From seven in the morning to one in the afternoon.’ 

‘How will you commute to the studio?’

‘In the morning, I will take a train from Bandra to VT to attend college. From college, I’ll take a train to King Circle from VT, then take a bus from there to Sion and then a bus to the studio. I have found out what the routes are.’ 

‘Good! I love your dedication and pray that this quality stays with you forever.’

I walked out of the cottage smiling and happy since Raj Sahab’s support infused more confidence in my plans for the future. Following that conversation, I secured admission to St. Xavier’s College and thus ensued my hectic schedule of attending lectures in the mornings and going to work in the afternoons. Even though it was hectic, I couldn’t have asked for a better start as an official assistant director at RK Studios (henceforth referred to as RK).

 A week or two after my confirmation as an assistant director with Raj Sahab, I got my first salary like the others. I had joined the crew in December, but it was May when I started getting paid. Payday in RK was as unusual as everything else that happened there. The seventh or tenth day of every month was when we got paid. I went to the account section to collect my pay. There used to be a huge line of employees, but we were privileged because we were assistant directors and we could just walk in. 

When I entered the room, I was told that I would be getting a salary of 72 bucks and I was thrilled to the core (there is a unique pleasure in being paid for your work). The accountant made me sign a voucher but I did not get the money in hand. The cash was passed on to the second table where the canteen owner sat. RK had a canteen and we used to go there once in a while to have a Coke or something. A Coke cost 4 annas and the canteen guy used to keep our account. The canteen chap on the second table would cut his dues and hand over the remaining cash to the man on the next table, the paanwala. I used to smoke in secret but I never used to buy my cigarettes from him because if Boss came to know, I would be as good as dead. Thankfully, I had no account with the paanwala, so he would pass the cash to Dambara ji, the head projectionist, who was running a clandestine bookmaking racket on the side. He would deduct his dues and whatever was left after the cuts was what one got in hand. 

That day, since I smoked on the sly and was not into illegal gambling, I got the whole ₹72 as my first salary. I hadn’t even realized then that the salary was actually ₹84 and medical insurance and Employee Provident Fund (EPF) contribution were deducted from that. However, such days didn’t last long. I started eating at the canteen, buying my cigarettes from the paanwala and indulged in illegal betting with Dambara ji, all on credit. The result was that after three of them cut what I owed them, I would not get my salary on paydays but an IOU of what I owed them further because my salary didn’t compensate it fully. Like most of the world, I had entered into a debt trap! I think I even owed the paanwala ₹30 or ₹40 when I left RK. 

And thus, my journey at RK continued. It had been a year since I joined and in December that year, I had my prelims for the final exams. We were editing Mera Naam Joker. I went to Raj Sahab and told him, ‘Sir, I may not be able to come for the next three weeks.’

His one-word reply was, ‘Why?’

I said, ‘I have got to study for my prelims.’

He was nonchalant about it and said, ‘It’s okay, you’re intelligent enough. I know you’ll manage your studies even if you continue coming to the studio.’

Now that Raj Sahab had told me not to worry about the exams, I continued working and didn’t prepare for the prelims. I flunked! Needless to say, my parents were upset at my non-performance and even I felt stressed because of it. When I went to the studio later, I shared my distress with Raj Sahab. I told him, ‘Sir, big problem, I didn’t study and I have flunked my prelims.’

Looking at my worried face, he was very sympathetic about the situation and said, ‘Don’t worry about it, okay? Let me come with you. We’ll go to St. Xavier’s and meet the principal. I’ll convince him that he should allow you to go on and give him the reason why you didn’t pass.’

A wave of relief washed over me because I was confident that Raj Sahab would convince our principal. I was very happy that he was coming with me and I took an appointment with the principal. However, one evening before the appointment, Raj Sahab was having a drink with some unit members in the cottage garden. I was standing in a corner with a Coke in my hand, and suddenly in the presence of everybody, he took off on me, ‘Ab main kal kya karunga? Tumhare saath jaunga college? Kya bolunga principal ko? Ki yeh bohot honhaar ladka hai? Jo fail ho gaya? Fail ho gaya aur honhaar ladka hai?! Meri zindagi yahi hai kya? Chintu jab fail ho gaya tha, Campion School mein toh mujhe ek trophy donate karni padi thi taki usko aage padhne dein. Tum bhi aise hi ho. Sab bacche aise hi hain.’

The next day, he came with me to the college and, I remember, it created quite a stir. Everyone was wondering what was Raj Kapoor doing on the campus? Meanwhile, we went and met the principal and the principal said, ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t pass him.’ Even after a lot of convincing by Raj Sahab, his decision was final.

To compensate for our unsuccessful attempt with the principal, he took me out for lunch to Nanking and told me, ‘Forget it! What will you do by getting a certificate? Because the way you’re working with me, and what I’m seeing in you, I don’t think you’ll be needing any degree or certificate.’

That was all the confidence I needed. He went on to become my mentor, a father figure and a friend who guided me through life, professionally and personally. All I wanted to do was come back to the studio for more and more, every day.